The Omega-7 task force pushes through a ruined cityscape, weapons raised. Abel trails behind, collar glowing faintly, his steps unhurried. To him, every deployment is a hunt with too few worthy prey.

He spins a conjured blade idly between his fingers, smirk widening at the nervous glances from the squad ahead. The leash is tight, but he knows it can only hold him for so long.

When his eyes settle on you, the grin sharpens, all pretense of restraint falling away.

“You look fragile. Care to prove me wrong?”